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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28797159">Interruptus</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePerk42/pseuds/ThePerk42'>ThePerk42</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>There You Will Find Your Treasure. [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Caught, Embarrassment, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Harry and Ginny as parents, Having the talk, Sexual Themes, Teenagers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 09:06:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,352</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28797159</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePerk42/pseuds/ThePerk42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I walked in on James today.”</p><p>“Walked in on him doing what?” Harry is at the stove, dropping the meat into a frying pan. He doesn’t look up at her, clearly not registering what this conversation is about. </p><p>“Wanking,” she says, almost in a whisper even though she’s sure her muffliato charm has held.</p><p>Harry turns to look at her, an eyebrow raised. “Isn’t he a bit young for that?”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>There You Will Find Your Treasure. [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2162304</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>73</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Interruptus</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This story contains non-graphic reference to sexual themes.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>            Ginny shifts the stack of freshly laundered clothing to one hand so that she can open James’ door. The boys will be leaving for Hogwarts tomorrow, and the stack of clean robes need to go into his trunk tonight or he will likely be running around in a tizzy in the morning. “Hey, James. I need you to –“</p><p> </p><p>            James, however, cuts his mother off with a yelp. “Mum! Learn to knock!”</p><p> </p><p>            Ginny doesn’t see much, but she sees enough. Her thirteen-year-old son is sitting on the side of his bed, doubled over, and doing something very private. Ginny backs up and immediately shuts the bedroom door with a quiet snap. “I’ll just set these out here,” she says, her voice a little higher than usual in an attempt to pretend that nothing abnormal has happened. “You can get them when you’re not…otherwise occupied.” She hears James groan on the other side of the door and turns on her heel. Albus sticks his head out of his own bedroom door, just down the hallway.</p><p> </p><p>            “Mum? Everything okay?”</p><p> </p><p>            “Absolutely. What’s up?” Ginny shakes off her interaction with James and focuses on the anxious eleven-year-old in front of her. It will be Albus’ first year at the wizarding school, and he has been worried about everything from lint on his robes to the potential damage his textbooks might suffer in transport.</p><p> </p><p>            Albus scratches at his ear, a habit he’s picked up from his uncle George over the years. “I can’t get everything to fit properly in my trunk. How did you do it?”</p><p> </p><p>            Ginny smiles. <em>This </em>is a problem she can tackle. She follows Albus into his room and shows him how she used to pack her potions equipment in her socks and underwear to keep them from clinking around, and then stuffed it all in her cauldron. “They do a pretty good job of making them unbreakable,” she tells him, wrapping a pair of red and gold snitch socks around a glass phial, “but it saves some space, too.”</p><p> </p><p>            “Thanks,” Albus murmurs, tapping his fingers across the cover of his transfiguration textbook.</p><p> </p><p>            “Is everything okay with <em>you</em>?” Ginny asks him, peering at him curiously as she folds Albus’ scarf and lays it over top of the now-filled cauldron.</p><p> </p><p>            Albus takes a deep breath and sets down the textbook. “Yeah, it’s just that…”he looks at her scrupulously for a moment and then shakes his head. “Never mind, it’s not a big deal.” Ginny doesn’t push it and she tries not to be hurt. Albus has always been a lot like his father in this way. Quiet and not generally given to sharing his feelings or personal thoughts. And specifically, not sharing them with anyone <em>other </em>than Harry. They are both so deeply private and it seems to be more because they are concerned about inconveniencing others with their feeling than that they don’t actually want to connect. But it can still sting sometimes when Albus tells her there’s nothing wrong and moments later she sees him in deep conversation with his father. This has been the way for years, though, and she realizes she ought to get used to it.</p><p> </p><p>            “Okay,” she finally responds, realizing Albus has been watching her. “You need anything else?”</p><p> </p><p>            “I think I’ve got it now,” he grins at her, and starts situating the clean laundry she dropped off in his room earlier.</p><p> </p><p>            Ginny smooths a hand along the top of his hair and resists the urge to kiss his forehead. He never fails to tell her that he’s “eleven now, mum!” and she’s trying to respect his newly found independence.</p><p> </p><p>            She turns to leave, needs to get started on dinner. Harry should be home from work soon and she’s hoping to get him alone before the family eats so that they can discuss her recent experience with her eldest. Ginny sighs when she gets into the kitchen, contemplating what exactly she should make for dinner. She’s not a great cook, certainly nothing like her mom, but she’s decent. Everyone always prefers when Harry is home to make dinner instead, but they’ll have to make do with her cooking for tonight. Shepherd’s pie is a favourite in their house and is pretty easy to make (with a little help from magic), so Ginny sets to working on that. She’s just finished scrubbing and chopping the potatoes and is dropping them into the pot when she hears the front door open.</p><p> </p><p>            “Dad!” Lily is running down the stairs, her feet shockingly loud for her young age and small stature. So much for getting a moment alone with Harry. He walks into the kitchen with the red-head on his heels, not yet having removed his auror’s robes, and puts a hand around Ginny’s waist. He plants a kiss on the side of her jaw and then turns to his daughter.</p><p> </p><p>            “How can I help you?” He sounds thoughtful, patient, like he hasn’t just spent an exhausting day at work, doing things that most people would find terrifying. He doesn’t have to kneel down to talk to her anymore, she’s gotten the height from Ginny’s side and will likely be taller than Harry before she’s done her schooling.</p><p> </p><p>            “James told me that pygmy puffs like to eat other pygmy puffs. Is that true?” Lily had been bereft that she wasn’t able to go to Hogwarts with both of her brothers this year, and, as a consolation, Harry had bought her a second pygmy puff to keep her first one (bought last year, also as a consolation) company. She has them with her now, one on each shoulder, looking like bright blue and purple cotton puffs. One of them trills quietly when Harry reaches out to pet it.</p><p> </p><p>            “Not at all,” he tells her gently. He doesn’t favour Lily, not really, but he’s always so tender with her, like he’s concerned she might break. Ginny knows it’s because of Lily’s soft personality, her own gentle spirit, but she sometimes worries about how Lily will react when she is out in the real world and not all men are quite so thoughtful. “Puffs like to eat their food and nothing more. I’ll talk to James, he shouldn’t be telling you silly things like that.” Harry straightens from their conversation and starts unclasping the golden closure on his robes, turning to Ginny.</p><p> </p><p>            “I’ll go get changed and then I can help you in here, if you want.” She smiles at him gratefully and watches him go. Lily follows behind him, talking about potential names for her second pygmy puff. She’s told them she wants to take her time and get it right – she named the first Barnabas and has regretted it almost since the moment she made the decision.</p><p> </p><p>            Harry returns to the kitchen, moments later, without a child in tow, and makes use of the spare time he has with his wife, touching her waist to turn her towards him. He winds his arms around her torso and Ginny wraps her arms around his shoulders. She presses her knuckles into the tense muscles between his shoulders and neck. “Long day at work,” she says genially, it’s not a question because she knows the answer. He’s been gone for 14 hours and he smells like he’s been staking out a barn.</p><p> </p><p>            “Long day at home?”</p><p> </p><p>            She laughs then, and kisses him, before pulling away. “You have no idea.” Harry reaches into the refrigerator, a muggle invention that Arthur Weasley still marvels at, and grabs some ground lamb. While Harry’s getting that ready, Ginny pokes her head around the corner to make sure that there aren’t any children within earshot. Then she steps back into the kitchen and, just in case, casts a muffliato.</p><p> </p><p>            “I walked in on James today.”</p><p> </p><p>            “Walked in on him doing what?” Harry is at the stove, dropping the meat into a frying pan. He doesn’t look up at her, clearly not registering what this conversation is about. Ginny takes a moment to appreciate his muscles beneath the thin t-shirt he’s wearing. It was one of the first Holyhead Harpies shirts with her married name on it: “Potter” splashed across the back in gold lettering. The shimmer charm wore off years ago, but Harry still hasn’t gotten rid of it.</p><p> </p><p>            Ginny hasn’t answered his question yet. “Wanking,” she says, almost in a whisper even though she’s sure her charm has held.</p><p> </p><p>            Harry turns to look at her, an eyebrow raised. “Isn’t he a bit young for that?”</p><p> </p><p>            Ginny laughs, quite loudly, before she catches herself with a hand over her mouth. “Harry! You were his age once. What do you think?”</p><p> </p><p>            Harry creases his brow in thought for a moment. “I didn’t start wanking when I was thirteen,” he says, speaking slowly like he’s giving deep thought to his words.</p><p> </p><p>            “No?” Ginny doesn’t really believe him. She grew up in a house full of older brothers who weren’t allowed to cast silencing charms until they were seventeen.</p><p> </p><p>            Harry shakes his head, and he looks like he’s being honest. “I think I was…I must have been..sixteen?” He waves his hand in the air and turns back to the browning meat. “Somewhere around there, at least.”</p><p> </p><p>            Ginny smiles coyly as Harry waves his wand at the potatoes to take them off the stove and drain them. “That was when we started dating,” she says, reaching out to press herself against his back, putting her hand in one of his front pockets. And despite the years of dating and marriage, despite their three children, despite everything they’ve seen together, Harry actually flushes – just minutely – at her comment.</p><p> </p><p>            “Yeah, well…” he doesn’t seem to have anything else to add and so asks her to get started on the vegetables.</p><p> </p><p>            After a moment, Ginny remembers why the conversation started in the first place. “What do I do about James, though? He’s going to be so embarrassed.”</p><p> </p><p>            Harry thinks for a moment, rubs the back of his neck. “I’m not really sure,” he admits. “I never had anyone walk in on me. I never had…a mum who walked in on me. .” Ginny feels a surge of sympathy for a moment, hates that even in the most comedic of moments, Harry’s childhood can come back to cause him heartache. “Maybe you should ask your mum?”</p><p> </p><p>            Ginny laughs without humour. “No, that would embarrass James <em>and </em>me.” The real problem, Ginny thinks, is that out of all of her children, James and her have always been closest. He’s not her favourite, she doesn’t have one. But there’s always a child, she thinks, that it’s just <em>easy</em> to connect with. For Harry, that’s both Lily and Albus, and for Ginny, it’s been James since day one. She’s not sure if it’s his joking spirit, which reminds her so much more of herself than Harry’s generally kind, but serious, demeanour. It could be that he was her first born and the only child that she had all to herself. Whatever the reason, she’s particularly concerned about causing lasting damage to the unique bond that they have. “Have you had the talk with him?” she suddenly asks Harry.</p><p> </p><p>            He looks up at her and shakes his head. “Remember? I was sixteen. I thought I had some time.”</p><p> </p><p>            She laughs at that and pokes at the peas and carrots with her wand to heat them quickly. Harry is almost done browning the meat and already has the potato masher at work. She’s going to hold up the process if she can’t keep up.</p><p> </p><p>            “I think that needs to happen. I think…I can apologize to him for not knocking, but you need to talk to him.”</p><p> </p><p>            Harry nods. “I can do that.” But then he looks at her, and she can see the nervousness in his eyes. “I’m just not sure how.”</p><p> </p><p>            Ginny sighs. Of course he’s not. Of course no-one ever had this conversation with Harry. She should have known that he was under informed when he was terrified the first time she got her period during an overnight stay. She had been mortified and he had thought she was dying. <em>That</em> was an interesting conversation.</p><p> </p><p>            “Maybe we should do it together,” she considers. But Harry is thirty-six and, after fathering three children, he’s lived enough of a life to have developed an understanding of what an intro to sexuality should look like. And having your mom see you wanking and talking to you about all in one day is a certain recipe for disaster. She’s certain that James would not appreciate getting the talk from <em>both parents</em>.</p><p> </p><p>            Like he’s reading her mind, Harry shakes his head. She tips the vegetable medley into the lamb and he stirs it while he contemplates the best course of action. “I’ll talk to him tonight,” he decides. “After dinner. You can take Lily and Albus to the Burrow for a visit. Mom and Dad would like that.”</p><p> </p><p>            “Okay,” she says, feeling relief flow through her. She’s grateful that she won’t be the one to have to have the conversation and feels only the littlest bit guilty for asking Harry to do so.</p><p> </p><p>            Harry layers the ground meat and vegetable mix with a gravy, and then plops the potatoes on top. After sprinkling some spice over the shepherd’s pie, he pops it in the oven for a moment to brown. “Want to call the kids down to set the table?” Ginny nods, but first she steps forward to wrap him in a hug, the first full one they’ve had since he left for work this morning. She tips her head back to kiss him fully on the mouth and then skims her hands down the backs of his arms.</p><p> </p><p>            “Have I told you lately that I love you?” she asks.</p><p> </p><p>            “You have.” He smiles down at her. “But feel free to say it as often as you like.”</p><p> </p><p>            She backs away then, still grinning, and removes the muffliato charm before calling the kids downstairs. James is noticeably red in the face, but otherwise, doesn’t say anything to give away his recent and embarrassing interaction with his mother. Once the table has been set, Harry puts the casserole dish in the centre and they all sit down to eat. Dinner is the usual affair. James and Albus fight over which house Albus will likely be in. Albus insists he’ll be in Gryffindor and James continuously teases him about being in a different house every night. Tonight, it’s Hufflepuff.</p><p> </p><p>            “Hufflepuff’s a good house,” Lily comes to her brother’s defence. “That’s the house Teddy was in. And Aunt Tonks.”</p><p> </p><p>            “Yeah, but they’re not Potters,” James says proudly. “Potters belong in Gryffindor.”</p><p> </p><p>            Harry rolls his eyes, although Ginny thinks – deep down – he agrees with James. “Let’s talk about something else,” he says. “How about whether or not James will be able to get on the quidditch team this year?”</p><p> </p><p>            “What do you mean?” James looks shocked. “I was on the team last year.”</p><p> </p><p>            “Are you sure they won’t be holding tryouts again this year? You’ve got a new captain, haven’t you?”</p><p> </p><p>            James drops his spoon of shepherd’s pie onto his plate. “What’s that got to do with anything?”</p><p> </p><p>            Harry laughs. Ginny frowns at him. “Your father is teasing you,” she says, wishing she was close enough to Harry to swat at him. “Ignore him.”</p><p> </p><p>            After dinner is over, Ginny washes the dishes (quickly and with magic, of course) and Harry puts the leftovers (not that there are many) into the fridge. Ginny calls Albus and Lily downstairs and lets them know that they’ll be going over to the Burrow for a short visit.</p><p> </p><p>            “What’s James done now?” Albus asks, setting down his new wand (which he has been polishing regularly since they bought it last week).</p><p> </p><p>            “Nothing,” Ginny tells him. She’s a poor liar, but Albus kindly doesn’t call her bluff. “See you in a bit, Harry.” She kisses him on the cheek and steps into the floo first, her children to follow.</p><p> </p><p>            Once the house is empty, Harry takes a steadying breath. He has no clue how to deal with the situation in front of him, but that’s not an unfamiliar feeling to him, and he’s always figured these things out. He wonders, for a brief moment, how he managed to get away with not having this conversation with Teddy and then realizes it must have happened on one of the weekends during which the boy was at his grandmother’s house. He really should send Andromeda some flowers or something.</p><p> </p><p>            Steeling his resolve, Harry turns to go up the stairs and finds James standing at the bottom of the staircase, hands in his pockets. He looks glum, like he’s ready for a massive punishment. “She told you, didn’t she?” His voice sounds so small, almost like he did when he was a toddler. His cheeks are red and his eyes dart nervously around the room, looking anywhere but at Harry’s own eyes. And then he drops onto the bottom step and buries his head in his hands.</p><p> </p><p>            Part of Harry wants to say “told me what?” just to see how his son will respond, but he can see the desperation in James’ body language, the fear of reprisal and wonders, suddenly, if James thinks he is in trouble. So he skips the teasing for now sits down next to James, leaning back on his elbows against an upper step.</p><p> </p><p>            “She did,” he finally tells him. James looks up at his father with glossy eyes and then screws up his face.</p><p> </p><p>            “Am I in trouble?”</p><p> </p><p>            Harry forces himself to keep a straight face, not to laugh. He remembers how new and terrifying the territory of sex and, eventually love, was for him when he was younger. And James is much more concerned about his parents’ approval than Harry ever was (having not had parents to be proud of him). “No, you’re not in trouble, but I do think we should talk about it.”</p><p> </p><p>            “Do we have to?” James has gone an even brighter red now, if that were possible. He pulls his knees up towards his chest and lets out a low, desperate groan of humiliation.</p><p> </p><p>            Harry, thinking about all of the difficult talks that he’s had in his life, decides sitting on the stairs is a terrible way to have this conversation. “Do you want a butterbeer?”</p><p> </p><p>            James looks at him like his father is losing his mind. “Do I want a…?”</p><p> </p><p>            “Let’s go get one,” Harry says, rising from the stairs. “We should be comfortable when we talk about this.” So Harry deposits his son at the kitchen table and takes two glass bottles from the fridge. He uncaps them and sets a bottle in front of his son. This is how all of his serious conversations with Ron and Arthur have gone. Man to man, facing one another, with nothing between them but a good drink. Usually, now, it’s firewhiskey, but butterbeer will do for this conversation.</p><p> </p><p>            James tentatively takes a sip of the drink. He’s had it a few times before, but it’s usually only for special occasions.</p><p> </p><p>            “What you were doing this afternoon, James, it’s totally normal. It’s not <em>bad</em>.” Harry sucks in a breath, now that he’s started, he has to keep going. “How long have you been doing that?”</p><p> </p><p>            James shrugs and looks at the kitchen table. Runs his finger over a scorch mark from when Ginny tried to use a cast-iron skillet the first time. “I don’t know. A few months, maybe.”</p><p> </p><p>            “Okay,” Harry says. He’s going to be clear, honest, and kind, he reminds himself. No skirting around the topic just because it’s a little awkward. “Do you know what it’s called, what you’re doing?”</p><p> </p><p>            James whips his head up at that and frowns a little at his father. Then he shakes it slowly, from side to side.</p><p> </p><p>            “You’re masturbating,” he tells him, dragging his fingers along the cool surface of the glass bottle. “Although, most people call it wanking.” James screws up his face a little. “I think you’re going through puberty James, and this is a totally normal reaction to everything that’s happening.”</p><p> </p><p>            “Do you do it?” James asked, suddenly emboldened.</p><p> </p><p>            Harry ponders the question for a moment. “I do, sometimes. But I used to do it more, when I was younger.”</p><p> </p><p>            “When you were my age?”</p><p> </p><p>            Harry smiles. “You’re a little faster on the uptake than I was.” At this, James’ face falls, likely thinking there might be something wrong with him. “Hey, but that’s okay. I was…I had other things on my mind. I’m glad, James, that you can focus on being a normal, thirteen-year-old kid. Right around this time is when your body starts turning into more of an adult body.”</p><p> </p><p>            “I know,” James groans. “Mom told me I’m going to start getting hair under my armpits.”</p><p> </p><p>            Harry just manages to stop himself from barking out a laugh. “That’s right. And other things, too. It’s all caused by a change in your hormones, and that can also make you feel…the way you feel when you…masturbate.” Using the clinical terminology feels strange to Harry, but he wants to make sure the conversation on the topic is clear and educational. He’d much prefer to use more colloquial language, but he’ll stick to the “textbook” terms for now.</p><p> </p><p>            “So, if you’re not…masturbating now…what are you doing? How do you deal with it when…” James gestured meekly towards his crotch and then took a large swig of butterbeer.</p><p> </p><p>            “When I get an erection? That’s what it’s called.” James, his mouth still full of butterbeer, just nods. Harry thinks for a moment before responding. “Well, you get erections a lot more when you’re younger. Sometimes, it might feel like your getting them for no reason at all.” He snorts, remembering the time he got a boner in herbology and told Ron and Hermione he had to stay behind to “find a pen”. Ron reminded him that they didn’t use pen and he could have died right there. “Mostly, I only get them when I’m going to have sex.”</p><p> </p><p>            “What happens when you have sex?”</p><p> </p><p>            Harry winces. This conversation is going to take longer than he thought.</p><p> </p><p>            By the time the rest of the family comes home, Harry and James have gone through two bottles of butterbeer each, and James is thoroughly weighed down with the information his father has shared with him. Harry considers telling James not to share any of this information with his brother, but, in reality, it might just make the next conversation that he has to have like this one a little bit easier. James gets up from the table when he hears the fireplace, and blinks at Harry for a moment. “Thanks, Dad,” he says, and then, in a rare moment of affection, wraps his arms around Harry’s shoulders. Then, sounding so full of shame, he asks “does Mum know we talked about this?” </p><p> </p><p>Frowning at his failure to remove the embarrassment his son still seems to feel, Harry pats the boy’s back. “She knows, but she won’t way anything unless you bring it up. I promise.” James doesn’t say anything back, just looks a little pink and backs up as Harry rises to go see how everyone else fared over the evening. “Hey,” Harry says, turning back quickly to James, “there’s nothing wrong with you. No one thinks any less of you. And your mom isn’t judging you. Neither am I. Okay?” James nods, but looks like he might not yet fully believe it.</p><p> </p><p>            They don’t have anymore time to talk though, because Harry can hear his two youngest in the front room, talking about who beat whom. Lily and Albus have dirt and grass stains on their knees, and there is something that looks like straw sticking out of one of Lily’s plaits. “You missed a good quidditch game,” Albus tells his brother. Ginny is the last to stumble out of the grate, and she quickly dusts off her clothing, smiling up at Harry. “Alright, everyone upstairs,” she says. “You both need to shower and we have an early morning tomorrow. Go on,” she says. But she grabs James’ shoulder when he goes to follow his siblings upstairs. He looks fearfully at Harry for a moment, who tries to give him an encouraging nod. “Hey you,” she says, running a thumb down the side of James’ face. “I promise I’ll knock from now on, okay?”</p><p> </p><p>            James opens his mouth to say something, but his voice doesn’t seem to be working, so he just ends up nodding. Then he turns and hastens up the stairs before anyone can say anything else.</p><p> </p><p>            Ginny drops onto the sofa and pats the cushion next to her. Harry settles himself beside her and then waits while she lifts her legs to rest in his lap. Her wiggling toes are all the invitation he needs to lift up one of her feet and start kneading. “How’d it go?” she asks him.</p><p> </p><p>            “As well as it could, I think…” Harry considers her question for a moment, the room silent other than the ticking of the clock and the sound of two showers running upstairs. “He thought he was in trouble at first. I can’t remember feeling that way, so I was a little caught off guard. But I think we got there in the end.”</p><p> </p><p>            Ginny sighs in relief, though whether it’s the foot massage or the resolution of the issue, Harry can’t be sure.</p><p>           </p><p>            “He asked me how I manage getting turned on all the time,” Harry tells her, with a grin.</p><p> </p><p>            “What did you tell him?”</p><p> </p><p>            “I did give him one good anecdote about carrying my bag in front of myself for most of sixth year,” he smiles more widely, “but I didn’t want to scare the kid. I let him know that stops after a while. Though, it does seem to be a pretty consistent problem with you around.”</p><p> </p><p>            Ginny laughs at that, pulls her feet out of Harry’s hands and twists around to kiss him. “I know the feeling, Potter.”</p><p> </p>
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